About Last Night
by Laura Schiller
Summary: An extension of the scene by the fireplace after the snowball fight. Belle will not give up so easily on the mystery of the rose.


About Last Night

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Beauty and the Beast

Copyright: Walt Disney Pictures

On the afternoon following their snowball fight, drinking tea before the fireplace to warm themselves after getting soaked with snow, Belle and the Beast found a rather awkward silence rising between them. The last two days or so might have been packed with more danger, sorrow and surprises than Belle's entire previous lifetime, but after all, it was still only two days. Her host – hardly her captor anymore, since she had come back of her own free will – was still a mystery to her, and one which she longed to solve. But could she find out what she wanted to know without ruining this fragile peace between them?

As her Papa always said when testing some new invention, it was worth a try. She placed the empty Chip back on the tea cart with his mother, whispered her request, and with Mrs. Potts' gracious nod of permission, wheeled the cart across the room so she and the Beast could speak in privacy.

"Your highness?"

His sharp glance of surprise made her blush a little.

"Isn't that correct? It's what the staff calls you, so I thought – "

"No." He held up his paw to interrupt her. "That _was_ my title, once." His bitter emphasis on the past tense did not escape her. "But you're not my servant, are you? No need for you to use it."

"Then what's your real name? What should I call you?" _What am I to you now, if not a prisoner or a servant? Are we equals – an inventor's daughter and a prince?_

"I gave up my name a long time ago. You may call me Beast."

Belle felt a twist of pity in her heart for this man, who chose only his worst side to identify himself. She would never call him 'Beast' out loud if she could help it. They would simply have to try and get along without names.

"May I ask you a few … personal questions?"

The low, rumbling sound he made was not encouraging, but neither was it a direct refusal.

"If I'm going to live here," she pointed out, "You'll find I'm _always_ curious. So instead of poking around behind your back, of which I understand you don't approve – " An ironic spark flashed in his blue eyes at that understatement. "I really would prefer it if you talked to me directly. To try and prevent any more … misunderstandings … like last night."

The Beast's face and body tensed at the mention of "last night"; whether out of guilt, anger or both, she wasn't sure.

"I should have known you'd be difficult about this," he growled, with a resigned sort of sigh. "Go ahead and ask, then … but I don't promise to answer."

"All right." Belle paused to sort out her whirling storm of potential questions, feeling oddly excited, as if she'd just cracked the spine of a brand-new book. "First of … what _was_ that floating rose under the glass? Is it part of the magic of this castle? Could I really have caused any damage just by touching it? I don't know anything about magic outside of fairy tales – " She stopped herself, embarrassed; what felt like a dream come true for her was obviously grim reality to him, and it was rude of her to carry on about it like a child in a sweetshop.

The Beast was silent for so long that she wondered if he was ever going to answer. Finally, he looked down at her with what she guessed was contrition in his strange face.

"The rose is … a warning," he said. "From the enchantress who cursed this castle. It marks the time for me … by the time the last petal falls, I – all of us – will have lost our chances of becoming human again."

Belle's breath caught in horrified sympathy. So her guess had been correct, and not only the Beast, but _all_ the living objects had once been human. She glanced at the door through which Chip and Mrs. Potts had disappeared. What must it be like for a mother to be cursed like that, unable to hold her little son?

"I'm so sorry," she said. "If I'd dropped that last petal … my God, no wonder you were angry!"

"You didn't mean any harm."

"I had no right to go trespassing in your rooms – "

"I still shouldn't have frightened you like that."

Face to face in the firelight, trading apologies back and forth just as they'd traded accusations, struck Belle as a peculiar contrast to the night before. She would have laughed, if not for the sobering thought of the curse.

"But why? I mean … why the curse?"

"My mother died giving birth to me." The nonsequitur startled her, until she realized he was telling his story from the beginning. "My father rarely saw me, he was so busy courting the king's favor in Versailles – as if he were the heir instead of just distant cousin. The servants raised me. I was twenty years old when he died. A spoiled young fool, wasting money, neglecting the estate, throwing fits when things didn't go my way. I might have known it wouldn't last long.

"It was Christmas Eve. An old beggar woman knocked on the door, offering that rose in return for the shelter from the cold. I … " he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, looking deeply uncomfortable. "I _knew_ she wasn't what she seemed. That rose was glowing in the dark like nothing natural. It made my skin crawl. I wasn't letting any unknown sorcery into my castle. So I turned her away – and that's when she cast the curse. To punish me, she said, for my lack of compassion.

"I … disappeared. My relatives at court were told I was killed in a hunting accident. With no heir, the estate was annexed by a neighboring family; they manage it from their own castle, because for _some_ reason, they can't seem to find this one. More magic, I suppose."

Belle could picture it clearly in her mind's eye. In every fairy tale she'd ever read, curses were cast as some form of punishment. On the one hand, the beast had obviously been right to be suspicious of the enchanted rose – but on the other hand, if the enchantress had really been an old beggar woman, she could have died in a December night outside.

"That was ten years ago, I believe – at least, ten years on the outside," he continued. "Time in this castle has been acting strangely since the curse. We don't age; we don't change. That's what makes the seasons so - erratic." He gestured out the window. "Snow in October is the least of it. Once we had a hailstorm in the middle of July."

Belle remembered the bright yellow leaves and the autumn warmth of three days ago, when she had walked outside without even a coat. That sudden snowstorm was another thing she'd been planning to ask the Beast about.

Ten years, he had said. Ten years living as a Beast, losing his grip on humanity bit by bit. How strong he must be, to have even this much left. Beyond the bare facts of the story as he told it, she could sense a lifetime of unspoken pain. This might be the first time he had ever told his story at all; perhaps detachment was the only way he could bear the memories.

She thought of the portrait in the West Wing. Those deep blue eyes just like the Beast's, the color of the evening sky just after sunset, in a human face. The canvas shredded by his claws, as if hecould not bear to see his former self.

She had only one question left – the most important one.

"Is there any way to break the spell?"

For the first time in this conversation, the Beast's face became as stony and impassive as the carved gargoyles on the castle ramparts. He did not meet her eyes.

"That," he said, "Is a question I don't choose to answer."

"Fair enough." She nodded, hoping the way her heart sank with disappointment did not show too clearly on her face. Of course breaking a curse would be much more complicated in real life than in stories. And of course she wasn't destined to save him or some sentimental thing like that. His life, and any flaws or mistakes that needed fixing, were his own responsibility, not hers.

All the same, her heart broke a little as she looked into his wild, sorrowful eyes.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" she asked softly. "Anything at all?"

The Beast's answering smile illuminated his face like a slow sunrise. Slowly, very carefully on account of his claws, he reached out to cover her hand with his paw. Only a day ago, she would have been terrified to touch him, but now it felt as natural as breathing.

"You've already helped me, Belle," he said, his deep voice sending shivers through her body. "Just … stay here. Stay with me. That's more than enough."


End file.
